


The Miseducation of Buffy Summers

by verity



Category: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
Genre: All Human, Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance, Stepsiblings, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunnydale, CA, 1997: Buffy Summers lives at 1630 Revello Drive with her family: a younger sister - Dawn, her mother - Joyce, an art historian, and her stepfather - Rupert, a professor at UC Sunnydale. Her life couldn't be more ordinary. Until her stepbrother William comes to spend the summer with them in the wake of his mother's death...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for taboo_spuffy on livejournal. Thanks to my loyal betas,** automaticdoor**, **coyotegoth**, and **wickedwitch74**!
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize belongs to Joss. The rest belongs to me.

Joyce Summers' mouth was open, her lips moving, and words came out from between them. Of this, Buffy Summers was pretty sure. She just couldn't process any of them.

She shook her head, and blinked. _Stay focused, Buffy_. "Wait, what did you just say, Mom?"

Her mother sighed, and patted her hand. "I know it seems strange, sweetie, but our home is his home, too... we'll just have to make some adjustments. His mother just died, and Rupert wants him at home. Just for the summer."

"Just for the summer," Buffy repeated, her mind already drifting. Her eyes lit on the picture that hung over the mantel: her mother, Rupert, herself and Dawn. _They_ were her family. No matter what her mother said.

* * *

It had been almost six years since she'd last seen her stepbrother - Dawn had been just six, at the very beginning of the lanky awkward phase she'd never quite grown out of. Buffy had been not-quite-eleven, and William - William had been seventeen. Like Dawn, he was too skinny for his height, and had spent most of Christmas moping about and listening to angry music on his Walkman. He and Rupert fought a lot about the Walkman, needless to say. But when Buffy overheard him talking to Joyce late one night, he sounded surprisingly shy and gentle.

Her mother's voice was soft, and Buffy heard the familiar clink of silver against china as she stirred her tea. "...means well, really. It's hard for him to be so far apart from you."

"I'm about to sit for my A-levels. I'm not a child anymore, even if Dad thinks I am." Her stepbrother's voice was quiet, but carried quite well to where Buffy sat in the study, her book open on her lap. It was strange to hear William call Rupert "Dad," even though she never did herself. Nevertheless, she felt jealous. Rupert was hers - he'd helped raise her since she was a little girl, younger than Dawnie. Buffy didn't want to share the man who'd read her to sleep every night, even when she was much too old for that, with some boy he hardly ever saw and could never care about, _never_, she told herself, as much as he cared about herself and Dawnie.

As these thoughts tumbled about in her head, her mother had continued speaking, and only the mention of her name roused Buffy from her brown study. "...sorry you feel that way, Will. I know that he loves you just as much as Dawn and Buffy, and if you were here... in the States, even..."

William cut her off. "If he cared about me, why'd he move across the bleedin' ocean, then? Why hasn't he come back?"

There was a long silence, and Buffy strained to hear her mother's reply, turning in her chair toward the kitchen. She started when a hand tapped her on the shoulder. But it was only Rupert, looking down at her with a sad but bemused smile. "It's past your bedtime, Buffy. Get yourself to bed."

Then he went into the kitchen, and Buffy ran the whole way up the stairs.

* * *

Now William was coming home again, and Buffy hardly knew what to expect. Rupert had visited him alone the past few years, and now William's mother had died she'd never known much about her, aside from what she'd gathered by some surreptitious eavesdropping over the years. She'd never wanted to ask Rupert - she'd never wanted to imagine him with any other woman that her mother, never wanted to imagine any other family of which he'd been a part.

_The Hon. Drusilla Russell-Pratt_. She was the daughter of a baron, and had inherited a large share of a prominent shipping company from her mother's father. But when Rupert had met her, she was just the little sister of one of his old school chums, Angelus Russell-Pratt. Angel, as he liked to be called, had set them up on a date.

Buffy barely knew anything about her. And now she was dead.

* * *

"Give me a hand with your trunk," Rupert's voice boomed comfortingly from downstairs. Buffy heard an answering shout from farther off, and shoved her magazine aside. All afternoon, she'd been trying to read the latest issue of Seventeen, but she'd hardly progressed beyond the index page. Buffy set it on the desk, and got up, smoothing the striped comforter on her bed. Then she shoved the magazine under her bed. Somehow, she just wanted to look grown-up.

Of course, that was silly. It wasn't like William would be looking in her bedroom. They'd made up the study for him, downstairs.

Before she went downstairs, Buffy checked herself in the mirror. She was just wearing a t-shirt and a jeans, nothing different than what she wore every day, but she tugged her shirt down self-consciously. She reached for a scrunchie, pulling her hair up with her other hand, then, just as abruptly, let it fall. _Stop it with the overthinkage!_

Dawn met her at the top of the stairs, her eyes dancing. "I haven't seen William in forever!" she whispered a bit too loudly in her excitement.

Buffy sighed. She'd forgotten that her sister had joined the dark side, too. "Forever's not long enough," she mumbled. Dawn opened her mouth, clearly in rebuttal, but a sharp "Oi!" drew their attention downstairs.

"Sorry!" Rupert was using the tone he usually took when apologizing to Buffy for the unfortunate necessity of her 10 p.m. curfew. "If you didn't insist on traveling with something so _heavy_..."

"I've got all my work for Finals on there. I'm not on a vacation, Dad." That sharp voice, with the thick working-class accent? _That_ was her stepbrother? He spoke again, after a brief pause. "Sorry."

Buffy came down the stairs in time to see her stepfather clap a hand on William's back. "Truce?"

"All right." He'd filled out some since she'd last seen him, she thought; he was turned away from her, but she could make out his figure beneath the ridiculous black leather coat he was wearing, which fit him like a glove. _How ridiculous_, Buffy thought to herself. She was embarrassed on her stepfather's behalf.

And then William turned around. Sometime between seventeen and twenty-two, he'd grown into those sharp cheekbones, that harsh but - oh! - delectable face. Buffy barely suppressed a gasp.

_Um, hot much?_

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned to go back up stairs just as Dawn barreled into her. "Dawnie!" Buffy chided, but her sister just pushed past her.

"William!" Dawn exclaimed, then stood back shyly for a moment before her stepbrother gave her a hug.

"Last time I saw you, you were just a wee bit," he said, and smiled for the first time.

Buffy crept back upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn't figure out why Buffy avoided him. Not that he was particularly fond of her, but she'd always taken a strong dislike to him, from the time they met at their parents' wedding. He was ten, she, barely five.

"I don't like you," she'd said, sticking out her lower lip and looking for all the world like a sulky Glinda in her flower girl dress. _Got to give credit to Miss Buffy, always was direct._

Will watched her slip back up the stairs as he let go of Dawn, who was still grinning at him. She was about the age that Buffy had been the last time he'd seen her, but the difference between the two couldn't have been more marked. Dawn might be shy, but once you got past that that, she was as sweet and open-hearted as sunshine. Buffy, regardless of the forthright exterior she put on, was the unfathomable one.

Rupert tapped him on the shoulder. "If you're so keen on computers, why don't you show Dawn how to use one?"

"Sure," Will found himself saying agreeably. "Got plenty of time for you, Dawn."

But his mind stayed with the image of their sister, walking back upstairs, away from both of them.

* * *

That was how he had seen his mother last, too: walking up a staircase.

His father hadn't asked about the details, and Will wasn't sure he had it in him to share them. She'd been his mother, after all; there'd been no love lost between them in recent years, but he felt obliged to keep her secrets, keep her memory bright. Not for his father, but in spite of everything, for himself.

She'd paid for everything, his education, his lodgings at Oxford, books and fine clothes and anything he could ask for, but nothing that he truly wanted. He'd spent most of his teens running with his working-class mates, who only teased him about being a toff occasionally once they found out how good Will was in a fight. Despite everything, he'd aced four A-levels, and found himself leaving his pals in Manchester for digs in Oxford come the start of Michaelmas term.

At Oxford, Will had done well, but found himself lonely. Save Wesley, with whom he'd shared lodgings since second year, he'd had few friends. But he'd preferred hitting the books, with a bit of pool sharking on the side, to trying to socialize with gits in sweater vests who spoke BBC English.

Much like the one who lingered in the doorway as he began to unpack his computer in the study. Will was conscious of both sets of eyes resting on him: his father's, guarded; Dawn's, unabashedly eager. Dawn hooked up the keyboard and mouse while he lifted the monitor to its place on the desk; then, he showed her how to tighten the screws on either side of the monitor connector when she plugged it in. A few power cables and some strategic draping of the cords later, it was ready to go.

"Can I turn it on?" his sister asked Will eagerly.

"Go ahead," he told her. The system began to boot up, and the familiar grey background cast a dull light on her hair. Will shot a glance up at his father, who hadn't moved from the threshold.

Finally, Rupert turned toward the hallway. "Dawn needs to help Joyce set the table in an hour," he said mildly. "Just wind things up by then."

Well, he'd passed some kind of test, which made Will flush with resentment for a moment. But then he turned back to the computer to help Dawn login, and took a deep breath. _You're all right by me, kid. I won't let you be no one's pawn._

He'd played too many games already.

* * *

His first real sight of Buffy came at dinner, where she sat opposite him and grimaced when she thought no one was looking. She was wearing a faded grey t-shirt that bore the legend "I Survived East West Field Hockey Camp '96," and her blonde hair cascaded loosely across her shoulders. Taken all together, it was a look that proclaimed a studied and absolute disinterest in the houseguest who happened to be seated across the table.

Unfortunately for Buffy, she had a mouth that was just made to pout.

Will arched an eyebrow, and she made another face. "Field hockey?"

"She's one of the best in the state!" Joyce interjected before Buffy could speak, setting a large bowl of mashed potatoes on one of the trivets as she did so.

"That's right," her daughter confirmed, as she began to butter her roll rather aggressively. "I've been playing since I was 12." For the first time, she looked Will in the eye, and smiled. "Until they started a women's team at Sunnydale, I played with the boys. And I was very, _very_ good there, too."

"A great athlete is our Buffy," Rupert said affectionately, coming in with a steaming bowl of carrots. He paused as Dawn scooted her chair closer to the table to let him pass. "But good in school, too."

"Except for math!" Dawn crowed.

Buffy sighed and frowned at her sister. "We all know you're a genius, sweetie." There was that smile again. "But someone in the family needs to be able to threaten your boyfriends when you get old enough to date. God knows Mom and Rupert won't be any help."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Ewwww, don't be gross. I am never going to date. I am going to have a laboratory in Menlo Park... with kittens. Lots of kittens."

Rupert chose that moment to clear his throat loudly. "And now... I think it is time to begin dinner. Joyce, would you like to say grace?"

* * *

The third time Will saw Buffy that day, he had entered the kitchen innocently in search of a glass of milk.

She was silhouetted against the light from the refrigerator when he entered the kitchen. He sucked in his breath, looking at the outline of her softly curving ass. Then she turned around, two liters of Diet Coke clutched to her chest and a jar of grape jelly in her hand. "God, can't a girl make a sandwich in peace?"

"I just wanted a glass of milk," he muttered. "And I think you'll find that fizzy drinks work poorly in a sandwich."

Rummaging in the breadbox on the counter, she ignored him.

Will pulled out a carton of skim milk, frowned at it, then shut the refrigerator door. "Have I committed some unpardonable offense against you, Buffy?"

"Buffy?"

She turned around, leaving her sandwich on the counter. Will made an effort not to stare at her breasts, unrestrained beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt. _Pineapples_, he thought to himself. _Think of pineapples. That's a very off-putting fruit, there_.

"You don't belong here," she said. "This is my family, and you are not a part of it. Arent you old enough to take care of yourself? Doesn't your mommy have relatives with shoulders for you to cry on?"

He couldn't breathe for a second. Couldn't think. He managed not to drop the container of milk.

Apparently Buffy could see from his face that she'd made some kind of mistake, and she tried to take a step back, stumbling when she hit the counter.

"Sorry," he said, not sure why he was bothering to apologize. He returned the milk to fridge; he'd have no appetite now. "Off to bed, then."

"Wait-" he heard her say, but Will had no time and no patience for her now. He'd come to California to escape his demons, not confront them. Soon enough, he knew, that day would come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my loyal betas,** automaticdoor**, **coyotegoth**, and **wickedwitch74**!

Buffy rolled over and hit snooze on her alarm clock. A few minutes later, it began to ring again. She opened one eye, saw the time, and groaned, but dragged herself to her feet anyway.

Even though field hockey season wasn't until the fall, she still went running every morning before school; there was one more week to go, full of exams and final papers and other unpleasant things Buffy preferred not to dwell on. It was better to go just at sunrise, before the heat of the day. Despite the tortuous crawl out of bed, mornings were her favorite time, when she moved through the house silent as a ghost while everyone slept, the morning hush unbroken. Now, she pulled on a pair of gym shorts beneath the t-shirt she'd slept in, wandered to the kitchen for a drink of water, then crept out on to the porch.

All was quiet, the sun just peeking about the horizon. Buffy braced herself against one of the pillars, stretching her legs. She yawned, filling her lungs with cool morning air.

Then she was off, down the stairs, on to the sidewalk, and the path beyond.

* * *

Sometimes running seemed like the only time of the day she was real. Homework, Dawn's whining, boys, they all melted away beneath the wind and the rising sun. Practice was good; a game was better. But when Buffy was running, the only thing she was competing against was herself. It was something she didn't have to share with anyone.

She paused two streets from home on the loop back, bending over and panting. With one hand she wiped the sweat from her eyes, pushed the hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her eye. Then she sprinted. Buffy always liked to go fastest on the last leg.

But she stopped abruptly at the end of the path up to her door. Someone had broken the spell of her morning. She could smell his cigarette from here, foul and acrid. William.

When she came up next to him, she snatched it from his lips and ground it beneath her shoe. "Don't you know that's bad for you?"

William looked up at her, surprised, his eyes wide and blue. _Shit_. "I'm sorry," she mumbled ungraciously. "Go back to whatever you're doing."

But neither of them moved. Buffy stood above him, chest heaving, and his expression stayed the same; not angry, just surprised. She felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest, resenting him even more fervently.

Finally, she coughed, prompted by the remnants of the smoldering cigarette, and went back into the house to shower.

He was gone when she came back out.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Willow said between bites of her sandwich, "he's taking the rest of the summer off," munch, "and doing what, exactly?"

"Annoying us all. Well," Buffy corrected, "annoying _me_. He seems to be charming everyone else just fine."

Thinking about her stepbrother made her suddenly disinterested in her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looked up to find Xander and Tara watching her. "What?"

"He doesnt sound so terrible?" Tara offered neutrally. The latest addition to the lunchly roundtable, Tara had moved to Sunnydale at the start of the semester. She and Willow fought a tough battle for first-chair clarinet in band, but having found each other worthy adversaries, they had quickly become close friends.

"How is the G-Man tolerating the British invasion?" Xander asked. He was the first friend Buffy had made in Sunnydale; she'd neatly beaten him playing basketball on the first day of school, then shared a cookie with him.

Buffy waved a carrot stick at him threateningly... "How many times have I told you not to call Rupert that? It makes him uncomfortable! And I don't think Britain can invade itself."

"You know what, Buffy?" Willow swallowed, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I think you're attracted to him. You know, sexy mysterious stranger in a leather trench coat-"

"Don't be gross!" Buffy wrinkled her nose. "He's not a stranger, anyway. I've known him since I was five."

"Oh, please. Meeting him like four times does not count," Willow protested. Buffy's best friend since first grade, she was always ready to offer her friend some gentle teasing.

"Whatever. Anyway, I think he's more your kind of guy, Willow - you should have been there last night when he unpacked the ridiculous computer he brought with him."

Xander pulled his girlfriend close and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm not sharing my pooky bear with some Lone Gunmen wannabe from fish and chips land."

"Only my Xan Solo is good enough for me!" Willow mumbled into his neck. Tara was peering intently into her pudding cup.

"On that note," Buffy announced dryly, "I think I have a math exam to fail."

* * *

_I totally passed. I passed. Thinking will make it so. Fortify me, Shakespeare._

Buffy grabbed her backpack out of her locker, then looked at her math textbook, leaning forlornly against the side.

_I totally failed._

Willow tapped her on the shoulder. "Come on, Buffy. Xander's waiting for us at the car."

Buffy trudged behind her best friend, slinging her bag on to one shoulder. "Willow? Statistical probability that I failed my math exam?"

"Well..." Willow glanced at her sympathetically. "Now would be a great time to get religion, if you don't have any already."

"Unnnnnnh. If I fail math, Mom will ground me until I'm 80."

"Well, you have Lambert, right? She'll let you take the final over if you get a bad grade. That's why she has it so early in the week."

They were halfway down the staircase when Buffy spotted him. She knew the second that Willow did, too; she gave a little gasp and looked back at Buffy, who shook her head. They pushed through the crowd, and Willow managed to contain herself until they got outside the main building. "Buffy-"

Buffy held up a hand. "I know what you're going to say, I know. Just-"

"What a dick! You were right there and he didn't even acknowledge you."

She shrugged. "We're not together anymore, so not much with the acknowledging."

"You don't have to put on an act for me, Buffy. I'm your friend. Remember?"

They were approaching the car now, and Buffy saw Xander wave at them from the passenger seat. "Yeah, I do," she told Willow. "But I don't want to talk about Oz. Not now."


	4. Chapter 4

When Joyce had spirited Dawn out the door, she left Rupert and Will to clean up the breakfast dishes. Will scraped the plates and Rupert methodically loaded the dishwasher in relative silence, broken occasionally by the grating of metal on ceramic.

His father finally broke the silence. "I'm at loose ends until summer starts... Perhaps you can help me a bit around the house, when you're not revising."

Will turned to face him, one hand still in the sink. His father regarded him in turn, face unreadable. "You've a mind to keeping an eye on me, then?" He dropped the spatula into the basin, where it landed with a dull thud. "Don't trust me with your pretty house and your picture book family?"

"Will... Will!" He was already turning away, but Rupert put a hand on his shoulder to still him. "Will. You are my son. You are part of this family. It's just difficult... for all of us. Joyce understands, but the girls... they are young. They don't know-"

"What's to know?" Will said abruptly, shaking off his father's grip. "And it's _Buffy_ who doesn't want me here. It's _Buffy_ you'd rather have here than me. She's not even your-"

"Come again?" Rupert slammed the dishwasher closed.

Will sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'd best be off. Have to arrange for transportation." The house felt stifling, in all its neat order, its bright clean spaces, its inhabitants. His father had gotten a second chance here, walling off all everything he'd left behind in England.

It was tiring, straddling two worlds. There was, after all, something else he'd rather be straddling.

* * *

"I'll give you eighteen for it. And not a penny more."

The lean man standing over the bike scratched his chin. "Two thousand. Just put in a new clutch last year, brakes have got plenty of life in 'em. Only ninety thousand miles on her, too."

The clutch was new, all right. And the brakes seemed fine, as well. But the tires were nearly bald, the suspension was off, and he'd need to break the bike down to see whether or not the water pump needed replacing. _Not too bad, for an eleven-year-old bike_. But Will shook his head. "Eighteen's my final offer."

"Nineteen fifty. Firm."

Will shook his head and looked over the lawn, which possessed wilted grass and a lone ceramic gnome, otherwise unremarkable. "No, thank you. I believe I'll keep looking."

He'd gone halfway down the drive and barely begun to pull the folded classifieds section from his pocket when the motorcycle's owner relented. "Eighteen fifty."

Will smiled before he turned around. "I think we have a deal."

* * *

When Will opened the front door to the house, he found his father seated on the couch, polishing his glasses.

"You saw the bike, I take it," Will said with some bemusement. Rupert coughed. "I did say that I needed some way to get about the place."

"Surely you can afford something a little more... " Rupert struggled for words.

"Dull?" Will hung up his helmet on the coat rack. "I suppose." He shrugged, not waiting for his father's reaction, and walked down the hall toward the study.

Where he found a red-haired girl peering intently at his computer and his stepsister hovering over her impatiently. He cleared his throat. The redhead started in her seat. "I'm sorry!" she yelped, her face already starting to match her hair. She looked up at Will, then immediately looked down. "I... uh, I... uh... wuh-"

"She just wanted to look at your computer. She really likes computers," Buffy finished for her, with the air of someone who tolerated this zeal with the patience of a martyr. She looked more composed than she had in the morning; her hair pulled off her face, makeup carefully applied.

"I see," Will said. He eyed the other girl, Willow, who was still staring at her feet. "It's an excess of money I've got, not an excess of interest. If you want to play around with that, suit yourself. I've other things I can do for the afternoon."

"Uh.. th..." Willow began, and Buffy started to open her mouth.

He held up a hand. "No need."

* * *

Will had worked his way down the list to checking the final drive oil by the time Buffy came out onto the back porch. He heard the door swing shut, but kept his back turned, removing the filler plug. The level seemed all right; the bike's previous owner had kept on the maintenance, for the most part.

"That was almost kind of nice. What are you getting out of it?"

He set the wrench down on the driveway. "I take it she's still playing with the thing, then."

A huff from the girl behind him. "Yes." Buffy paused for moment, then took up a different tack. "Mom is going to kill you for bringing that home."

"I doubt it." Will turned around and studied her face. "Might be a bit rough about the edges, but I got the same upbringing as our Rupert, pet. No harm in letting your friend muck about with that machine, or Dawnie, either. Nothing in it for me."

Buffy looked off toward the rosebushes, refusing to meet his gaze. "Why are you here?"

He'd prepared himself for this one, unlike the gut-puncher of the night before. "Why, every lad deserves a vacation now and then, Miss Buffy of the questions." Buffy rolled her eyes. "And I don't intend to spend my summer in the house where my mum kicked it. Are you done for now?"

She was.

* * *

They'd been awful good about it. His father hadn't asked him, on the drive up from L.A.: hadn't asked him how she died, or when, or why he'd spent the day of her funeral enroute to the United States. _Not like it mattered._ Angelus was there. Let him charm the old ladies and manage the estate; he'd take care of everything, like he always did. Will was just living up to his reputation as the black sheep of the family, and he found he didn't mind it too much.

He'd told the most to Dawn, who voiced the question while he pulled up MacPaint for her. "My mum had an accident," Will answered her quietly. "While I was away at school." That was true enough, and seemed to satisfy his sister, who was quickly engrossed in trying to draw with the mouse. Her mother had not asked him; indeed, she had not spoken to him much at all. Will supposed that she was waiting for him to come to her. Despite her remove, she, of all of them, made him feel the most welcome.

When Joyce pulled into the driveway and saw the motorcycle in the backyard, he saw her mouth tense into a tight line for a long minute before finally quirking up at one corner into a smile. She patted him on the shoulder as she went into the house and said, "If you need a workspace, there's certainly room in the garage."

"Thanks," he said, and looked past her, up at the house.

The curtains in the upper room were quickly pulled shut.

(next)


	5. Chapter 5

"Let's get out of here," Buffy said, letting go of the curtain, and they crept out of her parents' bedroom and down the hallway.

"Your mom seems cool with the bike," Willow offered once they had reached the safety of her bedroom.

"Yeah, well, I don't know what's gotten into her." Buffy threw herself down onto the bed. "_Everyone_ is making with the freakage. Except for Rupert." She rolled over on top of Mr. Gordo and stared morosely into his little piggy face. "If he doesn't like his own son, why should I?"

She felt the mattress sag at one corner as Willow sat down next to her. "I think you're being kind of hard on him, Buffy. I mean, having to crash with your family has to be replete with awkward for him. He seems like he's trying to be nice. And also his mom is dead."

_And I hate his guts._ She sighed. "Well, _my_ dad died first." Years after he'd left their family, to be fair. It had hurt more than Buffy would admit, even if her father's presence in her life had been limited to birthday presents and the rare phone call.

"It's not a contest, geez." Willow's voice brought her back to the present. "Anyway, Mr. Giles is his dad, too."

"If Rupert really cared about his _stupid_ son he would have stayed in _stupid_ England. Stupid stupid _stupid_." She punctuated the last few words by whacking her pillow against the bed.

"_Buffy_." Her friend placed a hand on Buffy's shoulder, her voice concerned. "What's going on? Does this have to do with Oz?"

Buffy buried her face in Mr. Gordo's stomach. "There is nothing going on with Oz."

"What?"

She rolled on her side. "There is nothing going on with Oz," she repeated to Willow. "We just broke up, ok? Lots of couples do that."

"But the night after junior prom?"

Oz had been so earnest, rolling over in his bed to shower her face with kisses, whispering in her ear, _I love you, babe_. An iron weight settled onto her chest. As soon as he fell asleep she snuck out and ran the whole way home, even though her shoes were still in his van. She fumbled with the keys outside the door, her hands still shaking, but Rupert opened the door for her before she could pick them up. _You waited up_, she said. A wordless nod.

"Nothing happened," Buffy said. "Nothing at all."

* * *

She and Willow studied for the history final until eight, when Xander showed up to shoot a few hoops. Xander was more enthusiastic than skilled when it came to basketball, but he and Buffy had been playing together since they met in kindergarten. So there was no one she'd rather steal the ball from.

She had just sunk her first shot when she heard a voice that was growing all too familiar behind her.

"Fine form, Summers." Her stepbrother was leaning against the back of her mother's car, watching them.

Xander stopped paying attention to the ball. "You bet she is. She is the finest. She is the very... uh... she is the president of fine."

_Trust Xander to come to my defense._ Buffy threw the ball at her friend's shoulder, where it made a loud thwocking sound before disappearing off into the bushes. He turned around, rubbing it and looking a bit peeved. "Come on, let's get back to the game."

"Sure, sure," Xander agreed.

"Mind if I try my hand?" William said. Somehow he'd gotten the ball while she wasn't looking.

Xander looked alarmed, but Buffy just shook her head at him. "You can certainly try," she said to William. "Give me the ball."

She did not like the smile he was giving her. "You'll have to take it from me." The ball was suddenly not where it had been a moment before, and neither was he. By sheer luck, she managed to block his shot, but the ball went back to him. Buffy guarded the net carefully, then made to cut in.

The ball dropped through the hoop and made a thwocking sound as it hit the pavement.

"Good defense," William remarked. "Not good enough, though. You could stand for a bit of practice."

"Excuse me," said Xander, coming between the two of them. "Buffy is perfectly capable, Mr., um-"

"Please." Her stepbrother extended a hand. "Call me Will."

* * *

When Xander had set off toward home once more, having tossed the ball around with her stepbrother for a while, she turned back toward Will, who was dribbling the ball around the driveway and occasionally throwing it in seemingly effortless arcs through the hoop. He moved swiftly and gracefully. _Like a cat._ Moreover, for the first time since he'd arrived on Buffy's doorstep, he seemed at ease. He was actually smiling a little bit.

She stepped in and seized the ball. Then she threw it at him, straight in the chest. He staggered back, unprepared for the assault. "Wha-"

"_You_," she spat, closing in on him, and he stepped farther and farther back until he was halted abruptly by the wall. "You can fool everyone, but you can't fool me. You think you can take _my_ friends, _my_ family-"

He put his hands on her shoulders and her mouth went dry. "Buffy. Miss Buffy." Will was looking down at her, calmly. She stilled. "I've taken nothing from you. It's _you_ who'd share nothing with _me_."

They were both silent for a long moment, and she heard the soft sound of leaves scuffling along the drive in the faint breeze, the purr of a motor on the next block. Will put a finger beneath her chin and lifted it until their eyes met. "I know I don't belong here. And I know whose father our Rupert truly is. Just... don't begrudge him the blood he shares with me."

Buffy saw him begin to move his head, and, hardly conscious of it, she closed her eyes. His lips came to rest, gently, on her forehead, brushing there for a moment before his hands lifted and were gone.

When she opened her eyes, she saw only the pale siding, illuminated by the light flickering overhead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my loyal betas **coyotegoth** and **wickedwitch74**!

By the end of the second week, Will was starting to get the hang of life in the Summers-Giles household.

_Morning: around five-thirty_. He woke up on the study's couch every morning to the soft patter of Buffy's feet coming down the stairs. After she'd left for her run, he'd go out on the porch for a smoke. If he was slow enough, she'd pass him on the way in.

_Breakfast: around seven_. Rupert would cook while Joyce, Buffy, and Dawn wandered in and out of the kitchen. Will usually waited until everyone had found a plate before he came in.

_Work: around nine_. The plates cleared away, Will would lock himself in the study and stare at the computer for a while. After the first few days, he'd started at work again on the first of the two papers he had left to complete. Although he'd been given an extension for his finals over the summer on account of bereavement, the work somehow seemed unbearably daunting for such a short amount of time. It was difficult to concentrate; when it became too much, Will would go out to the porch and have a smoke again.

_Afternoon: around three_. Dawn would come home from summer camp and insist on playing with the computer or otherwise putting herself in his way. Usually, she sent Will on an errand that involved ice cream or Lisa Frank stationary or something equally impractical. Will rated this as the best part of the day.

_Tea: around four_. Rupert was making an effort; Will had to give him credit for that. Still, half the time he nipped out to the pub for a pint instead.

_Dinner: around six_. Only unbearably awkward if Buffy was home. He was having a difficult time deciding whether her decision to totally ignore him was better or worse than constantly leveling insults. Joyce generally laid out an excellent spread when it was her turn to cook, though, so Will never passed up an evening meal.

_Avoiding social obligations: around seven_. Motorcycle maintenance in the garage it was, then. After the first few days, when he'd had to break the bike down to fix the coolant system and adjust the suspension, there was nothing he really had to do with it. But Will kept finding seals to replace, chrome to polish, and parts to oil. Motorcycles were material, logical - puzzles of fire and steel that fit together like intricate clockwork. In other words, nothing like the rest of his life.

_Hot chocolate: around nine_. When he'd been younger, this had been his favorite part of visiting his father: Joyce making him hot chocolate on the stove, with those little marshmallows he'd always liked. But these days, the world seemed to bleed around the edges with all the things Will couldn't voice. They drank their chocolate in silence until Joyce patted his hand and went up to bed.

_Nightmares: around ten_. That was the schedule.

* * *

"My William," she said, patting him on the head. "Very clever. Look at your drawing there, that's a good one."

He looked down at the desk, to the forms neatly rendered on bristol board.

"Always knew drawing lessons were worth it. Right well-rounded boy, you'll be. Like our Angel."

Her body, in a pool of blood, made bigger and bigger by his imagination.

"It looks so dark and shiny, like a lovely little pool."

It kept spreading slowly across the page.

* * *

The afternoon found Will in the study, perched on the edge of the sofa, wrapped in the comforting warmth of the duster. "This is a fairly detailed request," he observed, peering down his nose at Dawn, who was leaning over the back of the desk chair, a book dangling from her hand. "Sure I'm up to the challenge, nibblet?"

His sister grinned. "Of course you are. Also, Mom said to bring home some milk."

"You Summers gals sure do know how to boss a man around," he grumbled, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Be back before you finish that one, I reckon."

"You'd better!" Dawn waved her book in emphasis. "I will... I will go into _book withdrawal_ and be wracked with pains if I have to wait even _five minutes_ for the next one."

Will snorted. "Guess I'd better hop to it, then."

On the way out, the phone rang. he was just picking up the helmet when his father came out into the hall from the kitchen. "Phone for you, Will."

He'd been half-expecting this call for a while. Still, the voice on the other end of the line when he picked the phone off the counter was a surprise.

"Hey, baby," she said, husky voiced. "''spect you know why I rang."

Will eyed Rupert, who was gazing at him expectantly from the other end of the counter. "You want to meet me at Willie's around four? Local pub."

The deep chuckle she gave was almost a purr. "My pleasure."

The line went dead, and he hung the phone up on the receiver. "I've got a friend in town," he told Rupert by way of explanation. "Thought I'd meet up for a drink."

"I see."

His father might have said more, but Dawn's shout from the other room cut him off. "Will, you have to go get my books, you _promised_!"

"Fine!" Will raised his hands in submission, more for his father's benefit than for Dawn's. "Off I go."

He left the helmet behind.

* * *

Had it not been for the sharply raised pitch of her voice, he might have missed Buffy altogether as he carried the books out of the mall to the bike.

"I _can't_ explain, there's nothing to explain!" she was saying. "Please, can't you let it go?"

A male voice, quieter. "I just... if something is wrong, if there's something wrong that I did... I want to make it better. I miss us."

"There is no _us_!" she cried somewhat shrilly just as she came into Will's line of sight. He was surprised to see tears on her cheeks. The boy standing behind her was short, redheaded, his mouth twisted with concern. "Stop it. Just leave me alone."

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but Will was quicker. "I believe the lady asked you to step down." He turned to his stepsister. "Do you need a ride home?"

She nodded, more tears running down her face. Some girls were pretty criers, but Buffy was not one of them. Her face was screwed up and her nose was runny. Will offered her his handkerchief, and she blew her nose into it loudly. "Go away, Oz."

Oz gave her one last look which seemed laden with meaning, then went back toward the mall. "What's all this, pet? Has that lad been bothering you?"

"No, he just-" Snuffling, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why... why are you carrying around a handkerchief?"

"Requirement for British citizenship, I'm afraid." Buffy stared at him. "Never mind. You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine! Really!" Buffy stuck out her lower lip, but it wobbled, and she began to cry again. Will scrambled for the handkerchief. "It's just my stupid ex-boyfriend. I don't know why I'm telling you this. I keep running into him everywhere."

"Bust up his kneecaps for you if you like." Now she looked at him indignantly. "Never mind," Will corrected himself. "You're perfectly capable of that yourself. My apologies."

At this, Buffy managed a weak smile. "That's right." Her eyes traveled over to the bag he was carrying. "Why are you at the mall, anyway?"

"The little bit sent me on an errand," he said, a bit self-consciously. "She's in the middle of this _Wrinkle in Time_ series and wanted the rest of them."

"You don't have to buy her all this crap."

"I have plenty of money, no use for it. Might as well spend it on our Dawn."

Buffy made a face. Will didn't know why he bothered arguing with her, really. No changing her mind, whatever she thought of him.

"Come on. I've got to run to the grocer on the way home and pick up some milk for your mum, and your sis has me on a strict deadline." He gave her a hand up onto the bike, trying to ignore the way her tight little body felt under his hands.

"Thanks," Buffy mumbled into the back of his neck as she wound her arms around him, somewhat awkwardly.

For some reason, he found it a bit difficult to breathe. "No trouble, Miss Buffy. No trouble at all."

* * *

When they reached the house, he fetched the milk and books out of the saddlebags and handed them to her while the bike idled. Buffy seemed surprised. "You're not coming in?"

Will shook his head. "Friend in town, meetin' her at the pub for a drink."

"A girlfriend?" she asked. "Must be special, following you all the way over here."

"Hardly. Like as not, she's in town on business." He cleared his throat. "Very busy, the lady in question, so I must catch her while I can."

Buffy looked at him curiously, but he shook his head again to ward off further questions. As soon as she went in, Will sped off down the driveway.

* * *

Will spotted him as soon as he entered Willie's. His hair had gone grey, mostly, and he was wearing clothes that would have allowed him to blend in even on the campus of UCSD.

"Ethan," he said, sliding onto the barstool next to him. "Supposed you'd turn up sometime." _Surprised it took this long, really_.

Ethan Rayne's smile carved a thin line across his lean face. "It's been a while since I was in the States. Since your father came over. However, I imagine you won't be giving him my regards."

"Ha. He'd piss himself." Will signaled the bartender. "A pint of Newcastle for the both of us." He turned back to Ethan. "Didn't expect you'd bring your duckling across the pond with you."

"Her mother was from the States, you know." The older man reached out to take the full glass. "It's time enough for her to join me in the business. She's getting to be sharper than I am, when it comes to the field. I'm retiring after I tie this little mess up."

Will felt, rather than heard, her come up from behind him. Her breath whispered across the back of his neck. "Nice to see you again, stranger."

He swiveled around on the stool. She looked much the same as when he'd last seen her - flawless, the jeans and tank top she wore fitting her as if they'd been glued on. "Faith."

She shook her hair over her shoulders, all glossy and chestnut, and grinned. "Come on, Spike. Let's go have some fun."


End file.
